


God Help Me I've Come Undone

by notthebigspoon



Series: Hell in a Handbasket [7]
Category: Neal Tiemann - Fandom, The Anthemic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal feels like he's falling away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	God Help Me I've Come Undone

Neal is very very drunk. He feels wobbly and maybe like face planting into the ground. If he keeps walking then there's a very strong likelihood that he will. But it's only one block back to the hotel, and then there's the lobby. Elevator's no problem. He can lean against the wall in there. And his room is just around the corner from the elevator. Just as long as he can actually get in the door of his hotel room, he's good.

By some sweet miracle, he manages to get there and only collapsed onto his knees once. Idly he wonders how horrified the maids are going to be when they go into the elevator and find blood smeared on the lower wall where Neal's bleeding knees had leaned against the smooth stainless steel. Or if maybe he contracted some skin-eating bacteria that will eat away at him and leave him a pile of sticky wet flesh on the hotel room bed. 

He decides he doesn't care. They can't pin the blood on him and if the flesh-eating bacteria gets to him, he's not gonna be the one who has to pay for it. He changes before tumbling into the bed and then simply sprawls and stares at the ceiling.

It is decidedly unfair, Neal believes, for Andy to still be kind of digging on Allen after their little talk. He thought that because of the freakshow label, it meant Pocket Prick was therefore off limits. And then they walk into the bar together, giving each other _looks_. Looks that made Neal want to [and eventually actually go through with] getting into a bar fight, snarling at strangers and his band alike before storming out of the bar.

Maybe he should sleep with Lambert just to show Andy up. No, that would mean the aforethought five cases of beer (Neal takes his beer bets very seriously) and he would rather have those same said five cases for himself.

His iPhone rings repeatedly, various pictures flashing across the screen. They're all sent to voicemail and then he has to deal with the voicemail inquiries and the texts and he wants to know why the fuck they're so concerned. It's not like he's never done something like this before. Well, there might be the difference that he usually doesn't just take off after. 

Andy again. David again. Unknown. Kyle. David... for the fourth time. Andy. For the fifth time. He scowls. Maybe if he tells one of them to fuck off, they all will.

“Dude, the fuck do you want? I'm exhausted.”

“Where are you?! You've got everybody freaked the fuck out!” It's a little satisfying. Andy _does_ sound rather frantic.

Neil smirks. “I went get some ice cream. Not that you pussies would know anything about it, but a fight like that kind of takes it out of a person.”

“Fight like that, Neil? All that fucking was was you grabbing some poor bastard you'd never spoken to in your life and beating the shit out of him, before his several very large friends beat the shit out of you. We tried to put a stop to it but then you wanted to fight us!”

Alright, so that little tidbit of information might be one of the many things that he had forgotten between when he'd left the bar and when he'd finally reached his hotel room. He'll admit that he really doesn't know how long that took so he tips his head to the side, staring groggily at the blinking lights on the clock. Two hours. So maybe he couldn't entirely begrudge their alarm.

“Well I'm fine so get the stick out of your ass.”

“Neal. Where. Are. You?”

“My fucking hotel room!”

There's silence for a brief moment. The sound of a door opening just down the hall and then a knock on his own door. Oh great, this is exactly what he needs. Andy in lecture mode. Still, he knows not answering the door will only make it worse. He stares at the door, for a long time, as the knocking grows more insistent.

Well, he'd have to jump the bullet eventually. Neal rolls out of the bed, manages to stumble to the door and let Andy in. He doesn't look mad. Upset yes, but not mad. And... worried? Almost afraid. Neil's so surprised that he allows Andy to steer him back to his bed. Neal sits down almost gratefully, back against the headboard as Andy sits closer to the foot, just watching him. Neal feels like a bug under a microscope.

“What's up with you? Seriously. I know you and tonight, that wasn't you. What's going on?” Andy asks, too quietly, and oh holy shit if this is heading into intervention territory then Neal is going to be fucking _pissed_. “Is it because I showed up with Kris?”

Or not. Andy's insight is sometimes disturbingly good. Neal stares at his hands and wishes he was sober so maybe he could lie. “Maybe. A little bit. The fuck does he have that I don't?”

“David Cook?” Andy says, amusement clear on his face.

Yep. Neal is way drunker than he thought he was because Andy must not have just said that. Dave is straight. Mostly straight. Sure he'll kiss on a dude sometimes but it's generally a joke. He continues staring and Andy laughs again.

“Seriously, Tiemann, you miss everything when you're brooding. The only reason Allen came with me was because he was looking for Cook. Apparently, they talked after me and him had our... thing. Trust me. The story is one that you will be able to mock Cook about for years to come.” 

Neal just drops his head back against the headboard and groans. Great. He gets trashed and fights his friends all because of stupid Kris Allen and his not even real thing with Andy Skib. “Everyone okay? Did I hurt anybody?”

Andy shrugs. “Dave's got a split lip but he said he'd get you back. And before he and Kris back back to their own room... they were in mine while we made calls, he told me something kind of interesting. You may have the tiniest mancrush on me. True or false?”

There is no way he is going to find a dignified way of answering that. Mancrush his _ass_. It's hardly something that could be described in so cutesy of terms. Epic love, maybe, but that is a phrase that will never be uttered when death is an alternative option. Neal settles for a shrug and fluttering his hand. 

“The only reason I slept with Allen, is because I was drunk and I needed someone and you'd ran off with those two fucking _twinks_ for your epic gay threesome!”

Something new. Neal raises an eyebrow and motions Andy closer. Closer, closer, until they're almost face to face. Closes a hand into Andy's shirt collar, pulls him until their lips nearly touch... and growls, “I am not. Your. Toy. Make up your fucking mind, Skib. If you want me, fine, but don't make me dance around waiting for you to say something. And yeah, I didn't say anything either, but you're the only who turned into a pissy bitch when I went to someone else. You started this shit.”

“Then I'll end it too, Tiemann. I'm fucking gone.”

He really doesn't think Andy will do it. That it's just some kind of ploy to get Neal to break first and kiss him, declare his undying love, what the fuck ever. And god Neal is so fucking tempted because it's more than a little true, he _loves_ Andy and the thought of him walking out that door is enough to make him want to throw himself off that hotel balcony.

The door slams shut behind Andy on his way out and a door down the hall follows suit.

_God help me, I've come undone._


End file.
